


s.u.g.a.r.

by nowrunalong



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 23:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9686108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: “You want another drink?” Faith asks, before she can stop herself. “I might be shit at history, but I can help in the re-fuelling department.”She doesn’t really have to funds to take anyone out on fancy dates, but she can buy a cute girl a drink just this once.Buffy & Faith meet in a coffee shop.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a prompt from @catty-words on tumblr!  
> logic has no place here.

Faith shoves the door to the coffee shop open with unnecessary force and strides up to the counter, slapping her hands down on the top of it and flashing a grin at the barista.

The dude takes an immediate step back, like he’s afraid he’ll get cut on her sharp smile.

“Can, I, uh…” he says, stumbling. “Erm. What can I get for you?”

“A hot chocolate.”

“Okay. Anything el—”

“But, like. Fancy shit. Put two espresso shots in there.”

“Sure—”

“Nah. Make it three. And what about all of those syrups?”

“Uh. Yeah. We can use those.”

“Sweet. I want all of them.”

“All of…”

“Can I get whipped cream? What about those fancy ass sprinkles? Scratch that. No sprinkles. Gimme the whipped cream, though.”

The dude looks like he’s just gotten off of one of those rides that flips you around and around in mid-air as he struggles to repeat her order back to her. He does a fine job, though, bless his face.

Faith pays little mind to him as he prepares her drink, although he keeps glancing over at her, simultaneously nervous and intrigued. Faith can feel it. She expects it now, really: every guy in any given room follows her around with his eyes. (She gets it, though: if she were someone else, she’d look, too.)

“Don’t leave me, Will,” a girl is saying, somewhere behind her. Faith tunes in—more because of proximity than interest—as the aforementioned Will answers.

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I promised Tara I’d meet her at seven.”

“But—studying! The fun, fun times of the Revolutionary War!”

“I’ve been studying all week,” Will says, apologetic. “I’m all set for tomorrow.”

“And I would have been, if it hadn’t been for my slaying—er, _staying_. My staying duties!”

“Sorry,” Will says again. “But you’ll be fine on your own! And if Giles shows up—”

“I’m not leaving this spot for anyone or any _thing_. Trust me.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Bye,” the girl called Buffy says glumly. 

As Faith accepts her drink from the still-nervous barista, she turns to see a redhead in a fluffy pink sweater disappearing out the door, leaving—she spins around—an empty seat across from a girl with a blonde ponytail. Buffy, presumably. She watches her friend go with a little frown on her face, her bottom lip sticking out adorably.

 _You’re just here for a drink, Lehane_ , Faith thinks to herself. _Not to meet chicks._

Still, she sits down at the table closest to Buffy’s and opens the newspaper someone had left there. She pretends to read it, but watches Buffy out of the corner of her eye as the girl rolls a pencil back and forth along her desk.

Faith’s stealing a glance at her when Buffy whips around suddenly, meeting her eye before Faith can look away again.

 _Shit_ , she thinks.

“What do you know about the American Revolution?”

“What?” Faith asks intelligently, because the question wasn’t ' _Why are you looking at me?_ ', and now she’s kind of thrown for a loop.

“I have this test tomorrow and I’m not taking in a word of it. Willow—my friend, Willow—she was supposed to help me, but she bailed to go do spells—er. Spelling. With her girlfriend. They’re… spelling. Together.”

“Spelling. I’m sure that’s S E X-actly what they’re doing,” Faith says.

“Shut up,” Buffy says, and Faith grins. “I’m Buffy,” she adds.

“Faith,” Faith says, and scooches over to the seat across from Buffy, taking the introduction as an invitation.

“Pretty name,” Buffy says. “Can you spell that, too?”

“If I think real hard.”

It’s Buffy’s turn to grin. “So, Faith-who-can-spell-her-own-name. You don’t happen to be an expert on the Revolutionary War, do you?”

Faith can tell that’s Buffy’s trying to joke about it, but she doesn’t completely manage to squash the very real hope punctuating the end of her question.

“Nope,” Faith says. “I fucked up History bad. Uh. Just like the rest of school. So, you know. I’m probably the least qualified person in this room to help you out.”

“Well, it was worth a try,” Buffy says with a sigh. “Figured I’d ask, since you were sitting right there, and besides, you kept looking over at my homework.”

“I wasn’t—uh. Yeah.”

Buffy goes to sip on her drink through the straw, but it’s empty, and the result is an airy slurping sound. “Huh,” she says. “Strawberry-flavoured air.”

“You want another drink?” Faith asks, before she can stop herself. “I might be shit at history, but I can help in the re-fuelling department.”

She doesn’t really have to funds to take anyone out on fancy dates, but she can buy a cute girl a drink just this once.

“Really?”

“Sure,” Faith says, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“Cool! Could I get another frappe? Strawberry? Unless you wanna get something cheaper, in which case—”

“Strawberry frappe, coming up!” Faith say, cutting her off. “No worries, B.”

“B?” Buffy asks, amused. “You forget the other letters?”

Faith just winks and heads back to startle the barista again.

“Thanks,” Buffy says, when Faith hands her the frappe. “This is sweet of you.”

 _Sweet_. Faith’s not sure she’s ever heard that word used in reference to herself before.

“Sure,” she says again, because she'd lost the words “you’re welcome” a long time ago.

Buffy sips on the frappe for a second. Faith watches. Buffy’s wearing a tinted chapstick and she looks… _sweet_. This girl is definitely the sweet one. Positively edible.

“Can I try something?”

“Uh, what?” Faith asks, trying to pretend again like she hadn’t been staring at Buffy’s mouth. It’s been too long since she’d kissed a girl. She wonders idly if Buffy likes dancing; there’s a good club across the street—Faith’s been there a couple nights this week already.

The barista’s still looking at her, which is getting annoying. Buffy is the one who _should_ be looking at her, and yet she’s been focused on her goddamn homework the entire time Faith’s been here. Well. Faith _does_ like a challenge.

“This reading-to-myself thing. It’s not working.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can I read it out loud? To you?”

Faith leans over and tugs the textbook from Buffy’s hands, nearly knocking over both of their drinks. (Faith’s is hardly touched; she’s been a little distracted.)

“I got a better idea. _I_ read to _you_.” She points at herself and then to Buffy, leaning over the table a little as she talks.

“And I take notes?” Buffy asks.

“Hell if I care.”

Buffy shrugs. “Okay. It’s not like I have anything to lose.”

Faith draws herself back in her chair, getting comfy as she prepares to—what the fuck _is_ she doing? She shrugs. All’s cool in seduction and war.

“Having withdrawn his army from Boston to Halifax,” Faith reads, “General Howe now focused on capturing New York City, which then was limited to the southern tip of Manhattan Island. Howe’s force captured Staten Island across the harbor from Manhattan after arriving on June 30, 1776.”

“I can never remember these dates,” Buffy says, dejected. She writes “1776” in her notebook and draws a little circle around it.

“Can you remember your phone number?”

“Can you spell your own name?” Buffy shoots back rhetorically. “Of course I can. What’s your point?”

“I’m just sayin’. You seem like the type of chick who knows all her friends’ phone numbers by heart. Just… I dunno. Pretend this is the same thing.” Faith looks down at the textbook to check the date. “June 30, 1776 is 830-1776.”

“830-1776… to call General Howe in Staten Island?” Buffy grins slowly. “I like it. I thought you said you were no good at school—where’d you pick up these tips?”

“I just made it up,” Faith says, shrugging a shoulder. “Maybe you bring out the genius in me.”

Buffy snorts. “More like I make everyone _seem_ like a genius _next_ to me.”

“Hey. Don’t be so hard on yourself, B. How long have you been here?”

“Three hours.” Buffy sighs tiredly.

“See? You got dedication. I wouldn’t even have bothered.”

“Why _did_ you come here?”

Faith stares at her. “To get a drink. Isn’t that usually why people come into these overpriced hellholes?”

“Yeah, but—you’ve hardly touched yours.” Buffy indicates Faith’s drink with her pencil.

_Oh. Right._

“That’s on you,” Faith says. “ _You_ asked _me_ for help.”

She should drink the thing before it gets cold, though. She licks a dollop of melting whipped cream from the top of her drink and closes her eyes. “Mm-mmm.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Buffy says, but she’s watching now, eyes flickering down to Faith’s mouth and then back up to her eyes.

 _1-0_ , Faith thinks, smirking.

“You want some?” Faith asks. Buffy’s almost finished her second frappe already.

“What is it?” Buffy asks suspiciously.

“Hot chocolate.”

Buffy pulls the drink toward her side of the table and takes a sip.

“Ew,” she says, immediately shoving it back. “That’s _not_ hot chocolate.”

Faith grins.

“You _don’t_ mix mint and caramel syrups. Do you have no sense of tastiness whatsoever?”

The whipped cream on Buffy’s upper lip looks pretty fucking tasty.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Faith asks, before she can stop herself.

Buffy’s face falls. “Do you need to go, too?”

“What? No. But you’ve been here for three hours. You need a break.”

“But I promised Willow—”

“To hell with that. You. Need. A break. Trust me.”

“I don’t,” Buffy says.

“What?”

“Trust you.”

“Probably for the best,” Faith says, and takes a sip from her hot chocolate. B’s right: it’s kind of terrible. “But I gotta ask. Why not? Do I look like the kind of chick who’d steer you wrong?”

“Well. Yeah,” Buffy says, but she’s smiling. “I think it’s the top. And the eyeliner.”

“You like?” Faith asks, throwing her shoulders back. The top in question has… Faith doesn’t really know how to describe it, other than ‘a hole with dangly things’ cut just above her cleavage. She looks hot, and she knows it.

Buffy’s definitely noticing, too: a slight blush rises in her cheeks and she looks away, little smile still gracing her face.

“It sure is something,” she says, as she turns back to finish her frappe.

“So. You. Me. A little dancing.” Still sitting down, Faith mimes dancing for a moment, throwing up her hands and rocking in her seat. “What do you say?”

“Dancing?”

“Across the street. Have you been there?”

Buffy shakes her head. “I can’t,” she says. “I’m sorry, Faith. I’d really like to, but—”

“Yeah, yeah. Studying.”

“Maybe some other night?”

“It’s fine,” Faith says. She should get up and leave; there’s clearly no reason to—

“But I want to! You should give me your phone number.”

Faith smiles slowly. “You sure you'll remember it?”

“You sure you can spell your own name?” Buffy asks, for the third time that night.

“Think I can manage it. Tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date,” Buffy says. “Ooh, see! Dates! I can remember those now!”

“You’d better,” Faith says, getting up.

“You’re leaving?” Buffy asks, same frown on her face as she’d had when Faith had first seen her.

“It’s not like I’m doin’ much good here. Besides, they play good shit at that club.”

“Better than the American Revolution?” Buffy pouts.

It’s the pout that undoes her. Faith sits back down.

“I’ll stay for another few minutes,” she says, and Buffy beams at her.

For a smile like that, Faith would stay here forever.


End file.
